


Etcetera

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Drug Use, implied rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's probably because Chester didn't listen in school, that he's doing crack on his birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Etcetera

Chester probably should have concentrated more at school. Or not. Or what-fucking-ever ‘cause what can high-school teach you that a line of coke and a few weeks on the streets can’t? But they kept insisting “You should’ve listened.”

He probably should have gone to college too, but by that point in his life he was so fed up that learning more about a life he’d never lead was not something that appealed to him very much.

Between running from his father’s over-friendly colleagues and snorting coke, he forgot to eat. Not eating made him weaker. Being weak made the rape and beating all that more brutal. The pain made him have to double to coke he did. The amount of coke meant he forgot to eat.

Etcetera.

His life story: “I was hurt...etcetera."

So there is a reason that he’s mostly skin and bone and gets sick easily. At first he like to think that he was just unlucky, but then it occurred to him that every single person he had never listened to had been right – if he had only stuck in at school then he could have left the hell-hole he was forced to call home a lot sooner than he did, he could’ve got better. But he rebelled.

Etcetera.

He sits on his bed staring at his dark-ringed eyes in the reflection of the dirty mirror he has lying in front of him. He stares down at a broken man, a worn man, somebody he doesn’t really recognise any more. He gropes blindly for the bottle of vodka he knows is beside him somewhere, unscrews the cap and drinks deeply until he’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up.

He lied when Mike asked if he was okay this morning, said he was fine and you know one year older one year wiser. Mike said “life starts at twenty-nine” and smiled broadly. Mike’s got it good. Mike’s got it all. Mike can say things like “life starts at twenty-nine” without making Chester want to swing for him, because nobody can hurt Mike. Everyone deceives him, pretends the world is a beautiful place and that they can all make a difference.

They never deceived Chester, never lied to make him feel better. He always found himself lying for other people’s sakes, whilst they were sickeningly honest with him. “You’re going to go nowhere. You’ll be a failure. Nobody wants a failure.”

Staring at the little bag of white powder Chester realises, yeah, he is a failure. One big fucking failure.

Pours the coke onto the mirror, straightens it with his credit card and rolls up the fifty dollar note he owes Sam.

Forlornly wishes himself a happy-fucking-birthday. Snorts the coke, swigs the vodka. Etcetera.

Et-fucking-cetera.


End file.
